A THOUGHT ON DEATH. WHEN life as opening buds is sweet, When just is seized some valued prize, When, one by one, those ties are torn, When faith is firm, and conscience clear, 'Tis joy, 'tis triumph then to die. When trembling limbs refuse their weight, MRS. BARBAULD. PASSING AWAY. "Passing away is written on the world, and all the world contains." IT is written on the rose, Read what these buds disclose- It is written on the trees, As their young leaves glist'ning play; And on brighter things than these 66 'Passing away." It is written on the brow Where the spirit's ardent ray Lives, burns, and triumphs now"Passing away." It is written on the heart- Should claim from love a part! Friends, friends! oh! shall we meet Shall we know each other's eyes, With the thoughts that in them lay, When they meet beneath the skies Which pass away? Oh! if this may be so, Speed, speed, thou closing day! How blest, from earth's vain show, To pass away. MRS. HEMANS. TWO LETTERS OF THE REVEREND LEGH RICHMOND, ON THE DEATH OF HIS FATHER AND HIS MOTHER. The following letter, addressed by Mr. Richmond to his wife, enables us to supply some information relative to the last moments of his Father; at the same time that it affords a fine illustration of the faith and resignation of his mother. The event here alluded to, occurred at Stockport, in Cheshire, in the year 1806. "Dearest Mary, I sent you a few hastily penned lines last night. As soon as I had finished them, I went to our medical friend, from whom I had a regular account of the melancholy event which has brought me here. I had previously written a note that I might be shown into a room with my dear mother alone. I then went with Mary, and found my mother in a most interesting struggle between divine consolation and natural affection. My first words, after an interval of silence, were, are you supported, my dear mother?' 'Beyond all hope and expectation,' was the reply. 'Do you feel the consolations of religion?' 'I am resigned to the stroke, though it rends my heart in two. I may weep; but I dare not, will not complain. I never deserved him; he was lent to me, and now God has taken him again. You are come to support a poor widowed mother's heart; and I know you will be, what your dear sister Fanny has already been, the prop and strength of my age and affliction.' I was astonished and melted at her fortitude and resignation. I find my dear father's mind for three weeks past, was calm and tranquil, expressive of much faith, patience, and hope. My mother was reading that exquisite commentary of Bishop Horne, on the 23d Psalm, He observed, at the close of the fourth verse, that is heavenly, and it is my comfort.' He then sud. denly said, my head is giddy,' staggered to the sofa, and fell into my mother's arms; his eyes fixed, and a deadly paleness on his face. She contrived to ring the bell, and instantly returned to him; he gasped for breath, and groaned twice. The servant came in, and lifted up his legs; he gave one more slight struggle, and breathed out his soul in my mother's arms. She sat with him two hours in silent composure; unable to weep, but calm in grief. That night she could not sleep, but gained relief by much weeping. Fanny arrived on Sunday evening, and slept with our dear mother. After I had sat for half an hour yesterday evening, the rest came in, one by one, and we fell into a solemn but tranquil conversation. My very heart was ready to burst; but I concealed my feelings as much as possible. After a while I went to see the body of my father. As we proceeded up stairs, found my legs tremble, and when I came to the room door, I staggered; but instantly offering up a prayer for strength, felt relieved, and advanced. "Instead of seeing any thing to inspire terror, I beheld his well-known and honoured countenance so calm, heavenly, mild, and unaltered, that it seemed only like a sweet sleep. I never felt more composed; and we sat three quarters of an hour, chiefly in silent contemplation. I could only now and then interrupt it by, 'Oh! how sweet a countenance !-there is nothing terrible in this! It is the emblem of peace and composure. Oh! my dear father! I could have wished to have closed your eyes!-but God's will be done! With difficulty, I left the room. I went down to supper. Afterward, I requested all the house to assemble, and read 1 Cor. xv.; and then offered up a solemn and appropriate prayer. Great feeling pervaded us all. "This morning, at nine o'clock, commenced the business of the funeral. My heart again failed me. I was excessively tried in the procession through the churchyard, and in the church. I was, however, inwardly strengthened, and shed the last tear over his remains. "On returning to the house, for a moment I fainted, but recovered. Indeed, my dear love, it has been a very trying scene to me. A thousand tender recollections of past days have successively crowded upon my mind; and every object here reminds me so much of a beloved and revered parent, that I cannot but feel deeply. "He seems to have had a presentiment of his approaching end, but rather concealed it from others. I never felt myself of such power to console as at this moment. My dear mother says, 'You are my oak, and I am a poor ivy, clinging around you: now you are my child indeed.""" The ensuing letter contains all the particulars with which we are furnished respecting the decease of this excellent woman, in January, 1819. It is addressed to one of his daughters. He had previously seen her on his return from Scotland, in the preceding autumn; and remarked that she looked more aged, though not complaining; but she expressed her apprehensions that they were meeting for the last time. "My dear F - ; I am just returned, after executing the difficult and affecting task of preaching a funeral sermon for my most excellent and revered mother, at her parish church. I took my subject from Psalm cxvi. 1, as best suited to her |